


A Tentative Peace

by colourexplosion



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Louis, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Harry, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7324588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I dunno.” Harry’s not whining, he’s not. He pulls himself free, finally, turns away and busies himself again with the dishes. “I didn’t want it to be weird.”  </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“It’s not weird,” Louis says, appearing in Harry’s periphery when he leans against the sink. “Biology, innit? You know I’m always here for you.” </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>It stings. Louis won’t sit and have a conversation with Harry, but sure, he’ll fuck him through a heat like it’s nothing. “It’s a little more than biology,” he mumbles, but Louis either doesn’t hear him (not likely) or flat out ignores him (very likely). </i></p><p> </p><p>(Or, A/B/O featuring omega!harry and alpha!louis.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tentative Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingsoftheimpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsoftheimpossible/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY WADE!!! i hope u like this. big thanks to kate for looking it over!! 
> 
> in this fic bonding =/= mating, just so you know. 
> 
> I don't own these boys and please don't show this fic to any of them or their friends. 
> 
> thanks and enjoy!

Louis’ shout of laughter from down the hall pulls at Harry like a string between his shoulder blades, twisted around his spine and tugging until his shoulders have gone tense. Usually, he wouldn’t mind as much about the shouting and laughing and general debauchery, but he’s a week or two out from his heat, so everything Louis does — well, everything everyone does, really, but Louis in particular — makes him feel like screaming. He doesn’t know if it’s because they’re finally in proximity after three years of carefully avoiding each other or if it’s because Louis’ just broken up with Eleanor and hasn’t even spared Harry so much as a glance. 

Okay, that’s not strictly true. He’s staying at Harry’s place in LA, so they’ve like, talked. Harry had to invite him to stay, so they’ve interacted. Walked around on eggshells while they got used to living in each other’s space again and Harry got used to Louis’ scent lingering on everything. But they haven’t discussed much of anything, and Louis, for a while, seemed hell bent on drinking himself into oblivion every night and Harry’s exhausted all the time and prefers to spend the night in. They’re on different schedules, so to speak, so it’s not like the last time they lived together when it was all sharing each other’s beds and tracing the line of each other’s bodies in the dark. No, it’s more like Harry supposes it would be with a flatmate in the normal world. Harry does his thing and Louis does something else. It’s fine, it’s normal. Harry would like to have a conversation with him about something other than what to have for breakfast, but still. It’s — Well, it is what it is. 

And look, it’s not as if Harry had expectations. He didn’t think Louis would move in and everything would revert back to four years ago. He knew that it’d be weird and it’d be awkward and all that. He just thought maybe they’d be able to get past all the weirdness and like, be friends again. Apparently not, though, because Louis would rather bring a different group of people home every week without warning and let them touch stuff, leave their scents all over everything, mingling with the stench of whatever they decide to smoke or drink. 

Maybe it’s a bit more than just Louis’ choice in friends, Harry admits to himself grumpily, letting the book he’d been reading fall to the side of the bed. Or, more so in the fact that Louis is choosing them — relative strangers — to spending time with Harry. Most of the hurt comes from the fact that Louis would rather hang out with them than Harry — _Harry_ who he once said he wanted to mate. They were going to be forever, and Harry asked him to wait and then they weren’t anything anymore. They were just two people working together, speaking occasionally, and that might’ve been okay but then Louis had gone and got himself a sweet omega girlfriend within a month and that was that. Nevermind the fact that Harry couldn’t imagine himself with anyone else, didn’t want to _be_ with anyone else, really. He only wanted Louis, and yeah, maybe it took him a bit to figure it out, but he’d been sixteen and scared and was just trying to do the safe thing. 

Louis, historically, has never been a fan of doing the safe thing, so really Harry supposes he should have seen it coming. 

Another shout of laughter pulls at Harry’s spine and he stands, making his way to the landing and finds the living room occupied by Louis and his friends and a bunch of girls he doesn’t know. That’s new. One of them’s sat on the couch next to him, twirling her dark hair around her fingers and pressing her knee into Louis’ thigh. 

Jealousy burns hot in Harry’s chest and he bites back a growl. Louis isn’t his, he reminds himself. He has no right, technically, but this is his house and Louis’ a guest here, and Harry doesn’t want a bunch of his friends hanging around. He doesn’t want these people he doesn’t know in his space and he doesn’t want to have to smell the aftermath of Louis and this girl, doesn’t want their scents mingling and doesn’t want to have to think about them together when he’s trying to go to sleep. 

He clears his throat, just loud enough so Louis looks at him and smiles, soft and warm like he does just for Harry. It nearly dissolves his anger, but then one of the guys laughs and Harry flinches, and taps the non-existent watch on his wrist. 

Louis’ expression hardens but he doesn’t disagree, and by the time Harry’s turned back toward the stairs he’s already telling them to clear out. Harry tries not to smirk too widely on his way back to the bedroom.

— 

A soft knock on his door rouses Harry from his dozing. He does that the closer to heat he gets, just falls asleep anywhere, anytime. He tends to sleep less during the night as well, frequently finds himself awake at three or four and wanders around the house until he can find another spot to sleep. 

“Come in,” he croaks, even though it’s clearly Louis, and there used to be a time when Louis would’ve just barged in without knocking. Harry’s tired enough, foggy headed enough that he’s not sure which he prefers. 

Louis’ head pops through the crack. “Hey, you alright?” He looks concerned. Or, at least Harry thinks he does. There’s a sort of wrinkle in his brow and a turn to his mouth to suggest it, at least, and that makes Harry go warm all over, thinking that Louis might be concerned about him still. 

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “Just tired.” 

Louis nods, but looks at Harry critically, like he knows that’s not all that’s wrong. He probably does, actually. He’d always been able to tell. Harry doesn’t know if it was an Alpha thing or just a Louis thing, but it was always sort of comforting. 

“I’ll let you rest, then,” he says eventually, voice soft, and something in Harry surges up, makes him want to tell Louis to stay and have a cuddle like old times, but Louis’ already backed out and closed the door before Harry can get the words out. 

—

Harry should’ve known better than to think Louis kicking his friends out one night meant they wouldn’t be back the next. He knows that, really, and yet here he is, fuming in his room the second night in a row because the chorus of laughter from downstairs is interrupting his quiet time. 

He knows he’s being a brat, but this is his house and he really hates Louis’ friends. Okay, he doesn’t know them, but he dislikes them on principle. The principle that they’re annoying him. 

Just as he resolves to go down there and get them out himself, he hears the door slam shut, followed by silence. Blessed, blessed silence. And then a soft knock on his door. 

Louis’ head pokes through and he says, “They weren’t too loud, were they?” 

Harry knows he shouldn’t pick a fight. He knows that things with him and Louis are always ever a tentative peace at best, that they’re always tip toeing around each other because if they don’t, things get bad. He knows that, but it’s still somehow not enough to keep him from replying, 

“Loud enough for a bar, maybe. A house? Little much.” 

Louis rolls his eyes, which is an appropriate reaction to how Harry’s acting, but it rankles anyway so he adds, “Seriously Louis, I don’t mind you being here, but I don’t want the whole world knowing where I live.” 

“A few mates is hardly the whole world,” Louis says, though Harry thinks he hears a bit of compunction in it. It serves him right; he knows how Harry feels about his privacy, about his home life. He doesn’t know if there’s anything keeping one of Louis’ _mates_ from blabbing to everyone where they are. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t mean I trust them. Or that you should.” 

Louis straightens at that, crossing his arms over his chest. “You telling me who I can hang out with now?” 

“No.” Harry waves a dismissive hand at him. “I’m just saying. You trust people too easily. Always have.” 

Louis snorts. “Okay, Mr. Out of the Woods.” 

Harry makes a face at him. “At least I knew what I was getting into with that.” 

“Oh, right. Don’t want a few of my friends to know where you live but millions of people listening to songs about your sex life with Taylor Swift is fine.” 

Harry very carefully presses his mouth shut. He knows Louis knows that he and Taylor never — That it was before anyone knew he was an omega, before they knew — It doesn’t matter. Louis’ saying all of this to piss him off even more and he’s doing it to avoid talking about the issue. Harry thinks it’s a pretty valid issue. 

“I would appreciate it if you asked me in the future when you want to bring people over,” he says, as tactfully and politely as he can manage. 

Louis scoffs. “I’ll have them sign a NDA before we come back, how’s that?” 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” 

“I’m not sure I do,” Louis says, clearly feigning ignorance. It makes Harry’s hackles rise, makes him want to snap _then you’re not really trying_ or _you ever were particularly good at that_ but shakes his head instead. 

“I just mean — I don’t want you to get hurt,” Harry tries, but Louis only raises a skeptical eyebrow. 

“I think there’s a different problem here, actually,” Louis says, his voice infuriatingly calm. “You never cared before who I went out with.” 

“Yes, I did,” Harry says. He clenches his hands to keep from strangling Louis, but only because prison probably wouldn’t be worth it. “You just never knew because you wouldn’t speak to me.” 

Louis scoffs. “We weren’t exactly friends though, yeah? I mean, you rejected me —” 

“I didn’t _reject_ you —” 

“You rejected me,” Louis says louder and Harry clamps his mouth shut, fuming. “So I was pissed at you.”

“Yeah, well, I was pissed at you,” Harry shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest. Louis scoffs again and rolls his eyes. 

“Right, because that’s completely reasonable.”

Harry scoffs. “But it’s reasonable for you to be pissed at me?” 

“I loved you,” Louis says, and it drops like a stone into Harry’s belly. _Loved_. “So, yeah. I think so.” 

“You didn’t fucking wait for me, Louis,” Harry explodes, throwing his hands up. “You just decided that I didn’t want you and fucking left.” Louis raises an eyebrow and his mouth goes thin. That’s never a good sign. 

“Why the fuck would I have waited, Harry?” His tone is cold, makes Harry shrink back a bit. “You were already unsure. So, wait for _what_? For you to figure out you didn’t actually want me? No thanks.” 

Harry runs a hand through his hair, nearly tugs it all out in frustration. “You wanted to bond! Bond and then mate, and then what, Louis? We’d just be together forever, easy as that? It wasn’t unreasonable to want to wait.” 

“What’s the point in waiting when you know what you want?” Louis says, and Harry groans. Louis still doesn’t get it. Harry isn’t sure why he thought he might. 

Louis doesn’t let Harry try to answer, though, only shakes his head and backs away. “Forget it, Harry,” he says, making his way toward the door. “Just forget it.” 

The door’s shut before Harry can respond. 

—

Louis’ gone the next four nights. Harry hardly sees him at all — doesn’t even know he’s still coming back until the third day, when he sees Louis’ beat up Vans in the pile by the door. They don’t speak, they don’t interact, and hell they don’t even share the same room for almost a week, until Harry comes home late one night from the studio to find his living room packed. He’s exhausted, feeling particularly stiff and like he needs a good night’s rest and he’s got a tingle in his throat, and when he opens his door he’s greeted by a fog of smoke and the stench of cheap weed. It’s exactly the last thing Harry wants to deal with at the moment, and he really should have figured Louis’ passive aggressive bullshit would come out to play at the most inconvenient time.

“This is why you don’t pick fights,” he mumbles to himself, making his way through the entrance hall. 

There aren’t actually that many people in the room, a fact for which Harry is grateful, but there’s a girl sitting on Louis’ lap, her eyes glazed and tinged red. Louis has an arm wrapped loosely around her hips, and Harry knows more than anything he’s probably trying to keep her from falling off and braining herself, but he’s exhausted and feeling a little more than possessive. The jealousy makes his spine tingle, makes him growl low in his throat. Louis is _his_. He just won’t fucking admit it. Louis’ probably just as scared as Harry is, or was when they were younger, and Harry gets that, but it’s also fucking infuriating. It doesn’t mean Louis can just bring people into his home and flaunt them around. 

Harry drops his bag with a loud noise, a grim sort of satisfaction filling his chest when everyone turns to look at him. “Right,” he says, “Get out.” 

They all stare for a moment more, before Harry raises his eyebrows at them and they get up, scrambling to get their shit and get out. Their various scents as they pass by him make his stomach turn, and once the door’s slammed behind the last of them, Harry closes his eyes and revels in the quiet for a moment. 

“You didn’t have to be so rude,” Louis says, and Harry’s eyes flick open again to find him on his same spot on the couch. He rolls his eyes and doesn’t respond, because Louis’ clearly just trying to get a reaction and Harry’s too tired to give him one. Obviously, it doesn’t deter Louis in the slightest. 

“Aren’t you afraid of what they’ll say about you? There’ll be articles in the Sun, you know. ‘Harry Styles: Terrible Host’ and all that. Your reputation will suffer.” 

“I’ll live,” Harry says, shaking his head and stooping down to pick up the bottles Louis’ friends didn’t bother to chuck before leaving. The further he gets into the house, the worse it smells. All foreign and wrong, and not like him or Louis — or, his unhelpful brain supplies, him _and_ Louis — but like other people. Unwelcome people who sit on Harry’s couches and drink his beer and then don’t even throw the bottles away. 

“Are you sure?” Louis says, because he’s followed Harry into the kitchen, of course he has. “Looks like it’s already taking its toll on you.” 

“Haven’t you got anything better to do?” Harry retorts, gathering up all the dirty dishes and putting them in the sink. “Besides annoy me?” 

“Thought you wanted me to annoy you,” Louis says, that edge to his voice that means he thinks he’s winning. He’s not winning. “Thought you wanted to spend time with me, wanted —“

Whatever Louis’ going to say, Harry knows he doesn’t want to hear it. He’s tired and he’s annoyed and his house is a mess and nothing smells right, especially not Louis and — 

Well, Harry kisses him. Just turns around and grabs him and kisses him, because he’s pretty sure this is what he’s been angling for since he first invited Louis into his home and if Louis isn’t going to figure it out he’ll just have to do it himself. And fuck, maybe it’ll help get rid of the stench of the other people. 

Harry expects Louis to push him away, maybe, expects him to yell or look shell-shocked or something. He doesn’t expect Louis to fold into him so easily, to wind a hand in his hair and go up on his toes and kiss him back. It takes the fight right out of Harry, Louis releasing the tension with the slide of his hand down Harry’s spine. Harry whimpers, lets Louis turn him around until he’s pressed up against the work surface, the edge of it digging into his back as Louis keeps kissing him. 

Louis pulls away eventually with a gasp and Harry sags into him, half chasing his mouth and half letting his exhaustion get the better of him. 

“Alright, Harry?” 

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and takes in a shaky breath. “You smell wrong,” he says, mostly into Louis’ throat where he’s scenting him. 

Louis laughs and strokes a hand through Harry’s curls. “Why didn’t you tell me you were close to a heat?” 

God, Louis can always tell. Harry stiffens, embarrassed, tries to pull away but the hand in his hair keeps him where he is. “Dunno,” he says, “didn’t want you to feel —” 

“Feel what?” he prompts when Harry doesn’t say anything else. 

“I dunno.” Harry’s not whining, he’s not. He pulls himself free, finally, turns away and busies himself again with the dishes. “I didn’t want it to be weird.” 

“It’s not weird,” Louis says, appearing in Harry’s periphery when he leans against the sink. “Biology, innit? You know I’m always here for you.” 

It stings. Louis won’t sit and have a conversation with Harry, but sure, he’ll fuck him through a heat like it’s nothing. “It’s a little more than biology,” he mumbles, but Louis either doesn’t hear him (not likely) or flat out ignores him (very likely). 

Harry turns the water on and dunks the dishes under, rinsing them off before putting them into the dishwasher. Louis stands there the whole time, watching like he’s waiting for something. Harry ignores him mostly, fits all the dishes into the rack and closes it back up with a soft click. 

He leans against the work surface, squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and opens them again. He looks very carefully at the toaster. “I wouldn’t have changed my mind. If you waited. I only wanted you.” 

Louis snorts softly. “Wanted,” he parrots, but there’s a question in it. He shifts closer, close enough that Harry can feel the warmth of his body without actually touching him. 

“Want,” Harry says, hands gripping the counter tightly as Louis runs a hand down his spine. 

His hand digs into Harry’s hip as he says, “I did, you know. Wait.” Then it’s gone, and so is his warmth next to Harry’s side. Harry turns to look at him.

“Sleep well, alright?” Louis says softly, smiling warmly like he and Harry didn’t just get into another stupid argument not ten minutes ago. Harry wants to kiss him again, wants to pull him into bed and make him stay, but he can’t. No one makes Louis do anything, Harry’s learned. 

“Yeah, goodnight,” he says, long after Louis’ already turned away. 

—

Harry comes home from the studio the next night exhausted again. He can feel his heat getting closer, knows it’s probably only a day or two out but he doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it. He has no doubt Louis would keep his word, but Harry’s not sure if he wants him to. He doesn’t want to get through a heat with someone who feels an obligation, but he really doesn’t want to go through it alone with Louis a few doors away. 

He steels himself as he enters through the kitchen, bracing for the usual barrage of weird noises and smells, but there’s nothing. Just the quiet murmur of the telly in the next room and the familiar, comforting smell of Louis. Harry takes a deep breath and sets his bag on the counter, shedding his jacket as he walks into the living room. 

Louis’ sat on the couch, one leg tucked under himself and the other stretched out to rest on the coffee table. His feet are probably dirty and getting gross foot germs everywhere, but he looks so relaxed, calm, that Harry finds himself smiling, some of his tension being released with his next breath. 

“Hey,” he says, plopping down on the opposite side of the couch. He kicks off his boots and peels off his socks, stretching out his back when he’s done. 

“Hiya,” Louis responds, not looking away from the screen. 

Harry lets out a sigh as his back pops and he straightens, glancing at the telly. “What’s on?” 

Louis finally turns to look at him, like he’s just realized Harry’d got here. “Big brother,” he says. “I can change it, though.” 

Harry shrugs and relaxes back into the couch. “Doesn’t matter. Too tired to focus on anything anyway.” 

Louis makes an odd little chirp in his throat, and when Harry looks at him, he’s got his concerned face on. Harry’s chest fills with warmth and his cheeks heat. He doesn’t look away. 

“C’mere, then,” Louis says softly, crooking his fingers and changing his sitting position. “I know just what you need.” 

Harry stares at him as he pats his lap, his pulse rabbiting in his throat. It’s something they’d do before, when Harry was close to a heat or feeling particularly homesick. He’d lay his head in Louis’ lap for hours, letting him play with his hair and lull him to sleep. It feels dangerous to do it now, reckless in a way that Harry can’t really articulate, but god, he wants it. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, and Louis rolls his eyes at him. 

“Wouldn’t have offered, would I? Now come on, before I change my mind.” 

Slowly, Harry sits up and readjusts, leaning down to rest his head on Louis’ thigh. A small whimper escapes when Louis gets his hand in, his fingers working their way gently through tangled curls. 

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmurs, and for once, Harry lets himself believe him and closes his eyes. 

—

As Harry gets closer and closer to his heat he drags himself to work and comes home to find Louis in his spot on the couch. After the first day, Louis doesn’t even tell him and Harry doesn’t ask, just puts his stuff down and lays on the couch and lets Louis pet his hair. Louis will do a running commentary on whatever crap show he’s watching and Harry will hum in agreement — or, if Louis’ being particularly funny, he’ll laugh — and enjoy the peace. 

He knows they must make such a ridiculous picture; Harry curled up on the couch getting his hair played with, letting Louis go on and on, acting like such a mated couple that if anyone were to burst in and see them, they’d have a difficult time explaining it away. It feels good, though, that thought. Makes Harry feel settled in a way that he hasn’t in years. 

“D’you ever feel like,” Harry says, on the third night of him coming home to land in Louis’ lap, “that like, I dunno. That we were stupid?” 

Louis snorts. “You’ll have to elaborate, love.” 

Harry’s heart flutters. “Like, that it was stupid of us to just — not talk for so long. To not be friends.” 

Louis doesn’t respond right away, so Harry turns on his back to look up at him. Louis’ looking down at him. It’s another long moment before he speaks. 

“I think.” He pauses. “I think it was stupid, but I don’t know that we had any choice. That I had any choice, at least.” 

Harry frowns. “Of course you did,” he says, unable to keep from sounding petulant. “You could’ve — At any time, Louis. I was — There was never anyone else.” 

“I didn’t know that, did I?” Louis scoffs. “And we were young — younger. We’ve sorted it out now, haven’t we?” 

Harry blinks up at him, “I dunno. Have we?” 

Louis looks down at him again, his face going soft, something warm spreading from Harry’s chest to the tips of his toes. 

“I think we have, yeah,” Louis says and Harry smiles and turns back to the tv. 

—

Harry wakes achey and feverish and wet from sweat and from slick, his prick stiff and sore between his legs. He groans pathetically and flops over onto his stomach, hands curling around the edge of his mattress as he humps his hips down, vying for relief. 

He comes but there’s little satisfaction in it; he doesn’t want an inanimate object, he wants a person. He wants Louis. 

There’s a quiet knock on the door that has Harry whipping his head around and pulling the blankets over himself. 

“Harry, are you alright?” 

It’s Louis, of course it is, because he hasn’t left because Harry hadn’t told him that he was about to start his heat and now — well, it’s not technically too late, but Harry doesn’t want him to go. 

He groans in response, a pathetic almost-whimper that has the doorknob turning just afterward, Louis swearing softly on the other side of it. 

“Oh, fuck,” he says, once he’s stepped into the room and Harry tangles his hands in the sheets to keep from flipping over and offering himself up. 

“Hey,” he says, biting down on his lower lip. Louis looks like he’s just woken up, still in sleep pants and no shirt and his hair soft and falling over his face. It makes Harry’s gut twist, his cock hard again in a second. “What’s up?”

“You’re um.” Louis rubs a hand over his mouth, his eyes tracking a line down Harry’s body under the sheets so hot that Harry can feel it burning him. “You’re —”

“Heat,” Harry supplies, a shiver going down his spine at the way Louis’ hand clenches into a fist. “You said — ” 

“I’ll just — ” Louis says at the same time, and then laughs. It’s got a nervous edge to it. Something desperate in it that makes Harry’s blood run that much hotter. “Sorry. What?” 

“You’re staying,” Harry says after a pause, sitting up a bit so the sheet slips down his chest. He bites back a smile when Louis tracks the movement, his pupils going wide at Harry’s exposed chest. “Right?” 

Louis looks hesitant when his gaze flicks back up. “Are you sure?” Though, even as he says it he takes a step forward, into the room. 

Harry sits up all the way, letting the sheet fall into his lap. “You promised,” he says softly, his arms quivering where they hold him up. “Louis, you said — ” 

“I know.” Louis steps forward, and again until he’s right at the edge of Harry’s bed, his scent fucking dripping with want and his eyes dark. “I will,” he says, reaching out, and Harry lets out a desperate sound followed by another when Louis climbs into the bed and kisses him. 

It’s hot, bruising in a way that it wasn’t a few days ago, Louis’ sharp teeth digging into Harry’s bottom lip, his tongue pulling soft animal sounds as it explores Harry’s mouth. Harry lays back and lets it happen, his whole body gone bright and hot under Louis’ attention. He tries to give as good as he gets but the feeling of Louis everywhere is overwhelming, renders him useless except to try and kiss back. 

“Forgot how fucking lazy heat makes you,” Louis mutters and Harry whines unhappily, nipping at Louis’ mouth the next time he kisses him. 

“Don’t overextend yourself,” Harry says as sarcastically as he can manage. Louis laughs, kisses him again, runs a hand down Harry’s chest that makes his body sing, arching for more contact. It’s not usually like this, is the thing. Heat makes Harry frantic, desperate like it makes every other omega, but only when he’s not with Louis. When Louis is there it’s like his body knows, or something, that he’ll be taken care of. He’s not been with another Alpha, so he doesn’t know if that’s how it’d be with anyone, or if it’s just a Louis thing. 

“Never said I was, love,” Louis says softly, almost fondly Harry might wager if he could focus on anything for longer than five seconds. As it is, he reaches up and draws Louis down into another kiss, tilting his hips up for friction. His cock’s gone hard again, nearly painful as Louis smoothes his hands down Harry’s chest and drags the sheet down all the way. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, sliding a hand through the remnants of mess on Harry’s stomach, “Already got off once, yeah? But it wasn’t enough.” 

Harry makes a hurt sound, gasping when he feels Louis’ fingers trailing around the base of his dick and down to his hole. 

“So wet,” Louis whispers, and sinks one in, making Harry cry out and arch in response. Louis seems undeterred as he adds another, and Harry spreads his legs, feels his arse clench greedily, wanting more. 

Louis fingers him thoroughly, stretching and prodding, making Harry’s dick twitch and drool onto his belly. He goes to grab it, give himself a little relief, but Louis grabs his hand and presses it to the mattress, his other hand searching until a blunt fingertip brushes up against Harry’s prostate, another orgasm bursting out of him unexpectedly. He gasps, stomach and thighs shaking as he comes down from it. Louis draws his fingers out, petting Harry’s hip as he does, murmuring things Harry doesn’t hear in a sweet tone. 

“Better?” he asks, once Harry’s opened his eyes again. The need to be fucked and filled and knotted up has gone down from a white hot burn to a simmer, his head clearing a bit. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, hands fumbling with Louis’ pyjama pants. “Want this next time, though. Want you. Your knot.” 

Louis catches his hand, hooks their fingers together. “You sure? I mean that’s — ”

Harry looks up at him, raises an eyebrow at the hesitance on his face. “I don’t know what I was so afraid of back then,” he says carefully, squeezing Louis’ fingers, “But I’m not afraid anymore, alright?” 

Louis rolls his eyes, but his mouth twitches up like he’s going to smile. “Alright,” he says, clearly pleased. “Don’t get all soppy about it.” 

Harry laughs as he tugs down Louis’ sleep pants, as Louis moves down his body and as he takes Harry into his mouth. A switch flips and the simmer ratchets up again, his blood running hot and his back arching as Louis holds his hips down and sucks him off. Louis teases him, sucking him in long, deep pulses that travel up Harry’s spine and then pulls off when he gets close, his fingers barely brushing his taint and hole, kitten-licking the tip of Harry’s prick. It makes Harry moan and curse, his dick twitching, smearing precome over Louis’ lips and his gut tightening at the image. 

“Louis, please,” he says on a whimper, head thumping back onto the pillows. “Please.” 

Louis shushes him gently. Harry whines when Louis leans away, the absence of his warmth an unwelcome shock. Louis only shushes him again and pulls a pillow down, goes back on his haunches and flips Harry over onto his belly. It disorientates him for a moment, the sudden mouthful of cotton until he’s lifting his head up as Louis pulls him onto his knees by the hip, the head of his dick catching in the cleft of Harry’s arse. 

“You want me to knot you or not,” Louis says, leaning over so his chest’s pressed to Harry’s back, mouth right by his ear. Heat surges up Harry’s spine and he submits before he thinks about it, going down on his elbows and baring his neck. Louis hums, clearly pleased, and nips at his pulse point before spreading Harry open and pushing his cock in slowly. 

Harry shivers with it, his dick trapped against the pillow, catching in the cotton and smearing precome everywhere. He’s just so _wet_ is the thing, his dick leaking and his arse as well, slick running everywhere, making a mess of his legs and Louis’ legs and the bed. 

“Move please,” he says, and Louis obliges, resting a hand in the dip of Harry’s back and pulling out, thrusting back in so hard that Harry nearly sees stars. 

It’s brutal, Louis’ cock driving in deep and hard but slow, like he’s taking his fucking time with it, like Harry doesn’t feel like he’s about to fucking burst at the seams. His fingers dig into Harry’s hips, nails catching on skin and leaving stripes that sting. Harry’s always liked it to hurt a bit, and this is no different really. 

“More,” he chokes out, crying out when Louis changes the angle, leans over Harry’s back to grip the headboard and really give it to him, his thrusts moving Harry up the bed bit by bit. Harry goes a spacey, unable to think about anything other than Louis fucking into him and Louis’ knot that he can feel catching on his rim with every thrust and Louis, Louis, Louis. 

A sharp tug to his hair brings him back, Louis’ mouth at his ear muttering his name, warning him that it’s coming and then finally, _finally_ , Louis thrusting in one last time, hard, his knot popping past Harry’s rim and locking them together. 

Harry comes again, his hips twitching against Louis’ and driving his knot deeper, making them both moan, the bond between them strengthened. It’s sort of strange to be acutely aware of how Louis’ feeling, but he supposes he really always has been. This feels more solid though, more real. Less like a wild guess and more like a sure thing. 

Louis kisses the back of his neck and maneuvers them gently away from the wet spot, throwing the pillow to the ground and turning them to the side. He wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, fingertips trailing over Harry’s chest and his lips over Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry drifts, letting Louis murmur sweet things to him while they spoon and his knot goes down. He’s got no idea how long it’ll take, but that’s alright, he hasn’t got anything else planned for today. 

“I was scared too,” Louis eventually says, voice quiet, like he maybe doesn’t expect Harry to hear or listen. “Back then. All those years. Terrified, you know.” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, reaching up to take Louis’ hand in his and hold it against his chest. “I know.” 

—

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! [ you can find me here](http://jessimond.tumblr.com)


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